


Reunion

by Mareel



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Epistolary, First Kiss, Future Fic, Joyful, M/M, Possible Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 10:44:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2226165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mareel/pseuds/Mareel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding their way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place post-Season 4 and is set in an AU where Jonathan and Malcolm had never gotten together - first described in [The Lonely Road](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2223606). When I recently reread (and posted) that story, it felt overwhelmingly sad and I needed to explore what might have happened later in the lives of that Jonathan and Malcolm. This follow-up story is in Jonathan's voice.
> 
> Written for the prompts Love letters, Whisper, After midnight, Soulmate

 

__________________________________________________

 

Malcolm is missing. 

He’s been gone for six months now, and Starfleet just notified me that they had reason to believe he’d been killed by rogue xenophiles seeking retribution for _Enterprise_ ’s role in discrediting the Terra Prime organization. 

I can’t believe he’s dead. It seems like I’d know that somehow. There has always been a connection between us. I called it love. I’m not sure what he called it, if he felt it too. But my notification of his death has activated a message for me that he’d left for such an occasion. My hands are shaking, and my eyes are wet as I open it and read his last words to me.

 

  
**Confidential** – _to be transmitted only in the event of my death_  


To: Captain Jonathan Archer  
From: Commander Malcolm Reed

Dear Jonathan, 

I hope you don’t mind my calling you that. You’ve asked me to use your name so many times. I think my stubborn refusal became a reflex. And a defense. 

If you’re reading this, there’s no longer any point to that defense, and I don’t want to take a lie with me to my grave. 

I love you, Jonathan Archer. I know I told you that I could not, which may even have been true at the moment I said it – I don’t really know for sure. But the important thing then was that I couldn’t tell you so, even if I did. 

You told me that night – you know which night it was – that you’d never trouble me with the subject again. I should have believed you. I wasn’t trying to play hard to get. I honestly believed that the time for us wasn’t then, but that time might come. But I should have known you’d keep your word. 

I know you still feel something for me. I can see it in your eyes. Sometimes it’s a gleam; sometimes it’s a profound sadness. I wish I had found the courage to do what you’d sworn not to do – reopen the subject. As the years passed, our friendship thrived, and I know you wanted me to captain the _Enterprise_ after you. I regret that won’t be happening. 

But I’m most sorry that I never told you that I love you, never took your hand and raised it to my lips to whisper an apology with my kiss. Sorry that I never heard my name on your lips in bed, that I never felt the safety and love that I know I would have felt if I slept in your arms. 

I can’t change what has happened to me. But perhaps knowing all this will be of some comfort. 

With all my heart,  
Malcolm

 

I can’t stop the tears now, and won’t try. I’m touched so deeply that Malcolm wanted to leave something of himself for me. I’ll cherish his letter even as I mourn his loss and the loss of what might have been – what should have been – our life together.

 

_________________________________

 

It is long past midnight, and I can’t sleep. It’s been three weeks since Malcolm was declared dead. The words of his letter to me are etched onto my heart and I feel his absence with every step I take through the quiet hallways of the ship. 

I pass his quarters and Porthos whimpers a little. He remembers all the times Malcolm would greet him with a smile and a treat. We don’t pause there tonight, but I haven’t been able to give the order to have his quarters reassigned. I know I’ll have to eventually, but not yet. 

We end up in the Observation Lounge, me on my usual couch near the viewport, Porthos curled up at my feet. I come here often, hoping to find some measure of peace in the sight of the stars. When it comes, the sound of the door opening barely registers and the voice I hear makes me sure I’ve finally fallen asleep and am dreaming. 

“Captain… _Jonathan_ … may I join you?”

Porthos yelps and races to greet the source of that voice. I get up and slowly turn toward it, not wanting to be disappointed if the dream ends abruptly. But it’s no dream. After a greeting for Porthos, it really is Malcolm who crosses the room to stand in front of me, close enough to touch. He looks tired and older somehow. The time he spent missing was hard on him. 

“Malcolm, they told me you were… that you’d been killed. Just a few weeks ago, I heard that from Starfleet. I didn’t want to believe it…”

He stops my words by raising his fingertips to my lips and moving closer. My arms enfold him and hold him as if he’ll slip away again. His grey eyes are bright and I never want to look away from them. He doesn’t wait for me to say more; he simply draws my head down to his and kisses me. 

I don’t want that kiss to end, but when it does I can’t even ask how it is that he’s really back, not yet. This is more important. “I got your letter, Malcolm.” 

He’s trembling against me, and I guide us both back to a seat on the couch, never relinquishing the physical connection between us. “And you were right. I do love you. Thank you so much for wanting to tell me all you did. It left me something to hold onto when I thought we’d never be able to have _this_.”

He nestles closer, sheltering in my arms as he’d longed to do. Explanations can wait. Everything else can wait. 

Malcolm’s voice is quiet, his trembling has calmed. I’ll never know if it was from worry over the welcome he’d receive, or from the same kind of overwhelming feeling of joy that I’m experiencing.

“I meant every word, Jonathan. And it’s good to finally be home.”

__________________________________________________

 


End file.
